


So I Don't Have to Say You Were

by Anniecat



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gen, I dont know if steve lives in loch nora or not and reddit wasnt helpful, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lesbian Robin (Stranger Things), Nail Polish, Sexuality Crisis, Underage Drinking, drunk revealations, implied PTSD, no beta we die like men, sorta its not a crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:27:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anniecat/pseuds/Anniecat
Summary: If Steve's dad didn't want Steve to drink all of his liquor, why did he leave so often?





	So I Don't Have to Say You Were

**Author's Note:**

> Is the grammar good in this? NO! Is the tense and POV consistent? NO! Did it still take me 3 days to finish? YES  
> Title from Katy Perry's "The one that got away" but i dont mean that in a if she werent a lesbian way

“Have you ever had, like, a straight crush?” The words come out in uneasy stumbles, like Steve’s regretting his choice of words before he says them. 

They’re laying on Steve’s bed, Robin face down, painting his toenails with a garish blue that she had dug up from somewhere in his house. They’re also a little bit tipsy off of Papa Harrington’s nice bourbon, which Steve all too happily tore into after the monthly, “What are you doing with your life?” spiel was immediately followed by an urgent business trip to Fort Wayne. They mutually agreed that they would never get high together ever again, but somewhere along the line determined drinking was acceptable. When Steve called to see if she wanted to hang out in his empty house with a bottle of alcohol more expensive than her prom dress, Robin raced over to Loch Nora faster than when she woke up 10 minutes after the test started in first period. By the time the bottle was half gone, Steve had determined that Robin was far too drunk to bike home, and he was too drunk to drive her, so he had invited her to stay the night, lest she end up in a ditch somewhere. (“Come on, Robby. You’ve faced a tentacle-flayer whatever. You really want to die, biking home from my house at two AM, drunk as a skunk?” is what he said to her, and despite his breath making her eyes sting, he made some fair points.)

“For the last time, I wasn’t in love with you,” Robin drawls. She paints one of his littler toenails, but the combination of alcohol and a general shaky hand leaves something to be desired in her ability to stay within the lines.

“No, no, I mean, like, I’ve had gay crushes before. I was wondering if that was a thing for, you know, uh, your type.” Robin flips back over and lifts her head to look at him, but Steve continues to look at the little bumps on his ceiling, connecting them like constellations. 

“What do you mean?” Her tone comes off a little more disparaging than she meant it, but Steve either doesn’t notice, or is too drunk to care. He sits up against his headboard, and pulls his unfinished pedicure away from Robin’s unsteady hand. 

“Dude, you got nail polish all over my toe!” He says, rubbing his toe between his fingers, completely unfazed by his previous statement.

“Steve, what do you mean, ‘I’ve had gay crushes’?” Robin is now sitting up also, staring at her best(Oh god, best? When did that happen?) friend with a more quizzical eye than usual.

He shrugs, taking another sip of bourbon. “I don’t know, it’s just…” He runs a hand through his hair as he attempts to find the words. “I’ve had times when I’m like, I wouldn’t mind kissing him. Not at all. He’s hot.” Steve’s face contorts itself sheepishly, tell tale signs of impending brain shut down.

“Give me an example.” Steve thinks for a moment, brushing his hand against his upper lip. 

“Oh, um, okay, Jesse Tran,” He stammers out. The person that comes to mind is not what Robin would expect Steve’s taste in men to be. She’s not sure what she  _ would _ expect, but Jesse Tran is a wide receiver from a Vietnamese family. He’s in nearly every club, including French Club with her, and is hazed mercilessly by the rest of the football team for it. Or maybe it’s the Vietnamese thing. Could be that.

“On the football team?” 

“Do you know another?” Steve quirks his eyebrow and the corners of his lips are turned up in a slight smile. Robin hates it. It’s a stupid face. 

“I’m being very nice and patient here, and you’re testing me.” Robin presses her foot against Steve’s chest. He grabs her ankle and moves it back to the mattress.

“Sorry.”

“Whatever,” she says and jostled Steve’s leg. “So, what about Jesse Tran did you like?”

“Oh, hm. I, I liked his hair, I thought it was a close second to mine,” he giggles and Robin kicks him. “No, no, I’m being serious.” His voice grows a bit more somber. “I definitely liked his hair a lot, its thicker than mine, so he didn’t have to put so much product to make it look good. I liked his jawline, and sometimes I’d get distracted, thinking about tracing it with my thumb. I liked the way his eyes lit up when someone told him ‘good game’. I liked his voice a lot, especially when he answered questions without raising his hand, and you could hear how confident he was, that he got the right answer.” Steve finishes his Jesse Tran soliloquy with a sigh, followed by silence on Robin’s end.

“Nope. I’ve never had that.” 

“Huh.” Steve lays back down, stretching out his leg in a manner that indicates to Robin that he’s ready to resume nail painting, after this strange interlude. His eyes flutter shut, and he clasps his hands over his stomach. His chest falls indicate a level of serenity that she knows he can’t achieve, not since the night at Starcourt where he watched Billy Hargrove get impaled multiple times by a tentacle meat monster. Hell, knowing his history the past two years, Robin isn’t sure the last time he rested easy, with demo-whatevers creeping throughout his existence. But this night, a night where they got drunk off stolen booze and talked about their feelings and whatnot, was probably the closest thing he’d ever have to peace again.

“Steve?” Steve raises his eyebrows, slowly opening his eyes back up. Robin feels a little guilty disturbing him.

“Yep?”

“I think you might be a  _ little _ gay.” Steve closes his eyes again, and laughs, deep in his belly. He rolls his shoulders back and arches his back slightly, which shakes the bed and knocks over the nail polish that Robin had been using.

“Yeah, probably,” he admits, a slightly bemused smile still on his face.

Steve falls asleep immediately after that. Robin is quick to follow.

**Author's Note:**

> just realized my high school counselor was named robin and speaks russian


End file.
